


Canebrella

by ceywoozle



Series: The Baker Street Monologues [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, objects in love, oowoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:05:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other love affair of 221B</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canebrella

**Author's Note:**

> i posted this on tumblr a million ages ago when we were having our not-so-serious ship wars. i figured it belonged here.

It was dim in the hallway with the doors closed. The night time sounds of Baker Street were muffled by walls and doors and darkness. Above, the restless sound of feet pacing the floorboards. From the other side of the door to apartment A, the quiet sounds of Mrs Hudson humming to the radio.

In the corner, beside the door, the Cane leaned awkwardly, the curve of it’s handle leaving it lopsided and uneven.

But it didn’t care.

For months it had stood alone, forgotten, walked past, useless and languishing in its place. Even Mrs Hudson only swept around it when she cleaned the floor, not even bothering to shift it out of the way.

Until today.

Today, Mycroft had come.

Now, for the first time since John’s solid grip had warmed its handle, making it feel wanted, needed, alive, the Cane was not alone. Now, the Umbrella had been left behind, too.

Gorgeous folds clustered around a curved mahogany handle, steel shafts retracted and relaxed around its gleaming upright form, from the very first moment that the Umbrella had been laid against it, their handles bumping and catching together, the Cane knew there could never be anything else. The Cane thought of the Bow, of the Skull, of the Violin and of the Gun, beautiful and wonderful in their own right, but never before had the Cane felt this sort of connection, so suddenly and so deeply. It thought of Mycroft returning, of that soft fleshy hand twisting around the shining dark handle, carrying the Umbrella away forever, and it felt something like despair grip its aluminium spine.

But that was tomorrow. That was the future.

For now, propped together in the darkened corner, they could be happy.


End file.
